


X-Wing

by Captain of the Seven Skies (Rikkamaru)



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics), Robin (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Tim Drake is Red X, Tim Drake-centric
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-10
Updated: 2017-09-18
Packaged: 2018-09-23 06:18:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9644123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rikkamaru/pseuds/Captain%20of%20the%20Seven%20Skies
Summary: Tim wanted a way to be free of his obligations, to not be the perfect son, the perfect heir.Though he would admit, years later, that he might've gone a bit overboard.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wintersnight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wintersnight/gifts), [heartslogos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartslogos/gifts).



> Title is likely to change. I don't even know why I named it this.
> 
> For wintersnight and heartslogos, because their sassy portrayal of Tim is my favorite and kind of inspired this.

Tim will probably never admit to anyone that he never really considered himself hero material. Granted, no one was likely to ever _ask_ him that particular question, but it was something he held close to himself. He respected Batman and Robin, and loved tracking them, taking pictures from perfect spots as they moved in ways he'd anticipated and prepared for, but Tim felt that he lacked that element of _compassion_ needed on some level to be a hero like them. 

Also, he was so used to having to _give_ to others, having to play the good heir, obedient child, young genius that his parents desired him to be. If he could create an alternate persona, Tim would want it to be rather self-serving, if only to savor it for as long as possible.

And perhaps that's what leads Tim to where he is now, hands running over the fitted Kevlar-mesh covering his arms, chest and legs, a ragged bullet-proof cape draped over his shoulders, all black but for the red and smatterings of white. His eyes locked onto the full-faced mask he'd decided on, a white skull on the front and a bright red "X" on the skull's forehead, a line slashing across the right white-out eye lens. He'd been fortunate enough to find a few people willing to make the suit and stay silent on the matter for the right price, though the cost insured that his parents were unlikely to come home for an additional two months to the amount they already were planning to spend away.

A win-win scenario all around for what he's planning.

He carefully pulled the mask on over his face and stared at his reflection in the mirror, entranced despite himself. He looked...a bit malnourished, to be fair, but that was more due to his skinny frame than anything on the outfit's part. He didn't look like a _good guy_ , but he didn't want to. He just wanted to be free of expectation and obligation once night fell.

"So far so good," he murmured to himself, and the mechanized voice that came out from his voice filter would've startled him if he had not been speaking through the thing every chance he got in an attempted to become accustomed to it. "Wonder how Batsy and his little bluebird are gonna react to a new cape in Gotham that's...less than altruistic."

Tim wasn't ashamed to admit that he rather liked the personality he'd crafted for himself while wearing the mask. Self-serving, confident, brutally honest – everything he either wasn't or couldn't be around others. With a cocky smile forming beneath the mask the boy opened his window and jumped out, landing with nary a sound, and began running to a street near Crime Alley. He'd heard whispers of a gang heading out to take more territory, and they needed all hands on deck, leaving their base open to a little friendly snooping. And a little less-friendly sabotage.

* * *

Tim thought his self-assessment regarding him and heroism was rather accurate two weeks later as he stared down at a man choking for air in a dirty alley, a young girl curled up against the opposite wall crying to herself. "Wrong move buddy," Red X hissed, mechanical voice making up for his height in his attempt to intimidate the other man. "If the ladies don't want you, you stay the _fuck_ away from them." He really shouldn't know those kinds of words just yet but, to be fair, he shouldn't be running around in tights in the middle of the night either. He thinks he can be forgiven for his knowledge with that in mind.

Message delivered, Red X kicked the man's head into the alley wall, the blunt force knocking him out. The man out of commission, Red X was quick to rifle through his pockets, taking money out of his wallet before flicking it onto the man's lap. Red X then spun around and crouched down to look at the girl without scaring her. "You alright?" He asked, hands open and away from her personal space.

The girl sniffled a little before peeking up and staring at him. "You're the information thief, right? Red X? You've been pitting the gangs against each other for a while."

"...I wouldn't say "pitting them against each other". That's a harsh, accusatory phrase that could lead to issues." Tim shrugged a little and smirked beneath the mask. "I just make some...less than well-known things public knowledge and the gangs take poorly to that and take it out on each other. But yeah, name's Red X. I go by that and Red, X, and I have a bit of a soft spot for "that son of a bitch". Pleased to meet you."

The girl giggled a little and uncurled a little more, giving Red X a better chance to see her. He swore a little inside; the poor thing was like 14. He growled a little but cut it off when he saw the girl hesitating again. "Hey, I don't have to touch you if you don't want," he soothed. "I was just gonna help you up, give you this scumbag's money and point you toward my safe house so you could collect yourself."

"Only the one safe house?" She asked, looking a little puzzled as she reached a hand out to Tim's.

He took the hand and stood up, carefully pulling her upright as well. "Well I haven't been doing this for that long, you gotta give me a break here. I have like three more in the middle of becoming the "safe" part of the safe house, but they still have a few undesirables lurking around them at the moment." Whatever else he was going to say was erased from his mind as he registered the telltale flap of a familiar caped duo. He passed the girl the money and a slip of paper as he hissed, "Here are directions to the safe house, burn that when you can okay? Looks like I might have a few capes on my tail." With that he offered her a jaunty wave and ran off, his raggedly cut cloak distorting the eyes and making his escape even easier.

Red X got the pair off his tail easily, slipping in between the blind spots in the cameras and slowly tricking them into following their normal patrol route as he slid to press himself between a dumpster and an alley wall. He held his breathed and listened as his pursuers vaulted from roof to roof over him, disappearing into the night. He stayed there for another five minutes, in case there was an Oracle camera nearby that he'd missed – he might not outrun her eyes, but he could definitely give himself a head start against the Bats if they were informed of his location.

Once he'd determined the coast was clear he slipped back out and looked around for confirmation before slinking off into a nearby club. It was easy to find a bathroom and begin to conceal his identity. He hid the mask and lowered the hood of his body suit, taking off the chest piece and turning it inside out before slipping it back on so that it looked more like a tight-fitting sweater. He loosened his belt so that it hung off of his hips more and turned his cape into a crude sack for his gloves and mask. By the time he finished he looked like a kid trying to sneak into a club for a dare or something – not entirely inaccurate – and when he took his first step into the main room the bouncers were quick to catch him and escort him out.

"Good eye as always Jared," he complimented the man, and Jared gave him a stern look that was ruined by the amused tilt to his lips.

"Ya gotta stop tryin' ta sneak in, kid," he told the boy, crossing arms as wide as Tim was across a broad chest. "What if one of them creeps catches you? We don't let you hang around for a reason, and it ain't cause we're all assholes."

"I know," he conceded, curling a little into himself in a facsimile of looking for comfort. "I just hate all these cameras everywhere, this club's like the only one without them all over the place. And I like you guys; you and Garret actually talk _to_ me and not _at_ me."

The stern look softened a little at that and Jared sighed to himself. "Look," he said in a quieter tone, bending down a little when Tim got to his tiptoes to hear him better. "We can't let you in the main room but I'll talk to the guys, maybe they won't mind you in the employee lounge. That way you can get in and out no issue."

Tim felt his eyes widen outside of his control and he stared at Jared, honestly touched by the man's gesture. "Uh, please do. Th-thank you, Jared, I – wow, _thank you_. That'd help me out a bunch. And I could help you back. Teach me how to keep the books or something, I'd love to pay you back somehow."

Jared smiled at him and patted him on the head before pushing him a little. "No problem kid, come back in a few days and I'll tell ya what they all said. Now shoo, I gotta be doin' my job."

Tim waved back and jogged off, mind reeling from the bouncer's generosity. With one of his changing spots actually allowing him to come and go as he pleases things would go a lot smoother. He tucked away his elation to head home and put his equipment sans his mask away. After he finished that he grabbed a burner phone and put in a number, slipping the mask on over his face as he waited.

After a few rings he heard the other side connect. "Hello?" The young girl sounded wary, and Tim smiled a little.

"It's Red X," he told her, and listened as she let out a little breath of relief. "Did you find the safe house easily?"

"I did," she confirmed, more relaxed now that she knew it was him on the other side. "Didn't this place belong to some new gang? The Blackbirds or whatever?"

"Well, it _did_ , until the police got informed of their intent to push into the richer side of Gotham. If the cops care about anyone, it's the guys that line their pockets. They wiped the majority of the gang out, and what was left either disappeared into obscurity or got absorbed into some other gangs. And since it's such a small territory, the gangs think the other nearby gangs own it, leaving it free for the taking. If things go according to plan, that area will unquestionably be mine in a few weeks, but it certainly works well for now.”

“I see,” she didn’t sound bothered by the situation with the safe house, and it was no wonder. Once the larger gangs thought a territory was absorbed into another large group, they didn’t think the gain outweighed the cost to pursue taking that area back. And not only that, the territory Tim had dug into was hard to maintain if your attention was split elsewhere, which was the primary issue for most groups and firmly put into the category of “not worth it”. And she seemed somewhat aware of that too. “Thanks for sending me here. I ate some of your food and told my friends I’m safe; I’ll probably head out in a few minutes now that you’ve called in too.”

“No problem, glad I could help.” And Tim really was. He didn’t think he could ever be a _hero_ ; he just couldn’t stand the idea of having to give up even _more_ of himself for a city that didn’t really care. But this? Helping a girl in need, fucking over an asshole and turning drug-running gangs against each other? 

That, he had no problem doing. “If you ever need a place to lay low, that house is open to you. I’ll contact you somehow if that changes.” They bid goodbye and hung up, Tim throwing the mask and burner phone onto his bed with a sigh. While that man had put a damper on the day, Tim was still able to set off the next stage of his plan.

Which was, of course, to form an alliance with some of Gotham top dogs.

Tim had managed to slip a USB containing info to the Penguin regarding two gangs trying to move in on his territory. He'd made sure a note was attached to it stating he wouldn't mind doing this from time to time, so long as Penguin and his thugs didn't bother him or ask for more than he was willing to give in return. He'd done the same with Catwoman and new security protocols being added to the Gotham Art Museum, leaving the USB outside on Selina Kyle's balcony.

He'd see how those seeds grew in a week or two. At this point Tim just wanted to establish himself as not a threat to the big dogs so they don't try to make an example out of him, and this was in his opinion the best way to go about that. He just wanted to run around, chasing his own leads and doing whatever he wanted, and unlimited access to the Rogues' territories would help that. But he wouldn't feed them any info on Batman, and if he was forced to, Tim would make sure that it was always a little obsolete.

Tim was seeking a thrill, a reason to get his pulse pumping, but turning the entire Batfamily on himself was far too stupid an idea for him to pursue seriously.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A year later, Jason is still adjusting to having his own Rogue.

“Red X.”

The masked face tilted up and Jason wished, not for the first time, that he could see the other boy’s face more clearly. Hell, even a domino would’ve helped. “Well if it ain’t the fox come out to play without his hound. Finally got a chance to slip your leash?”

“Shut up.” He glared at Red X and dropped from the higher ledge to land in a crouch next to the other. “What the hell are you doing out here? I thought you didn’t leave your little rat hole unless you were planning to steal shit.”

The thief let out a laugh that unnerved Jason as much as it did the first time he and Batman came across the caped villain, but he didn’t move, laying on the gargoyle’s back to look at the city below. “You cut me to the quick little fox, I actually came out here hoping to catch you or the big bat himself, though I am pleased it’s your pretty face I’m looking at right now and not the vampire’s.” 

As every conversation with Red X tended to go, Jason found himself torn between being flustered, amused and irritated as he considered which branch of the conversation to continue. “Batman’s not a vampire,” he started, ignoring the disbelieving noise the thief let out. “And you found me. What do you want?”

Red X didn’t respond for a second, a hand idly running along the curve of the gargoyle’s wing and Jason watched closely but no, there was no trace of a planted explosive left behind, but that didn’t really surprise him. Red X caused less destruction than Batman or Robin did, but then, he _was_ only breaking and entering or pushing other groups to public destruction. Jason looked back up as he heard a Darth Vader-esque sigh and watched as Red X seemed to sag into himself. “Some of Gotham’s worst problem children are breaking out of Arkham tomorrow,” Red X told him. “Killer Croc and Joker being the two of note. Croc’s been chomping at the bit to cause mass destruction and panic for a while now, and the Joker’s the Joker; he finally got bored.”

“And how do you know that?” Jason asked, even as adrenaline shot through his body. An actual _warning_ before an Arkham breakout, it was far too good to be true.

“Ivy told me. She heard from Harley.” Mentioning Harley seemed to exhaust Red X for a second, and he rested his head on the top of the gargoyle’s. “Believe me, or don’t, I did what I wanted to. At least have your little camera monitor keep an eye on the place tomorrow, would you?” The thief slowly picked himself up and grabbed a rope Jason hadn’t noticed lying next to him.

This wasn’t like Red X; normally the guy was brash and cocky and would only give his info up for the right price. To see him quiet and serious was really messing with the Robin and so he blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “Why do you care if they get out? They’re just more people to distract Batman and me from catching you.”

Red X tensed and turned to Jason and Jason actually felt the need to step back as the other’s lenses narrowed ever so slightly. “It may come as a surprise to you, Boy Wonder, but I _don’t_ like every single villain in Gotham. I have an agreement with the ones I think are reasonable, and I avoid the others. Killer Croc? Not very reasonable; has his okay days. Joker? _No_. If I thought I could succeed I’d probably kill the guy. He’s a monster, he kills people for fun and lives to see the world turn to rubble. So if I can help keep him off the streets, away from others, then I don’t mind telling you whenever I get news of attempted breakouts.” Red X let that sit between them for a second before he sighed and tossed the older boy a salute. “This was a fun talk and all, but I gotta split. Catch ya at my next heist, foxy.”

Jason watched as the other slid down the rope and ran off, taking several sharp corners and disappearing from view. He lifted up his hand and pressed on his comm. “B, you there? Just ran into Red X; he says Croc and Joker are planning to break out of Arkham tomorrow.”

There was silence on the other end of the device as Batman mulled over that. “Did he have a reason to think that?”

“He says Ivy told him that Harley had told her,” Jason answered. “So that at least explains knowing the Joker is breaking out, not sure why he thinks Croc is getting out; it would be on schedule for him though.” The Robin raked a hand through his hair, frustrated. “He suggested at least having Oracle keep an eye on Arkham tomorrow just in case, and that sounds like the least we can do if this is a real possibility.”

Batman grunted an affirmative as Oracle chimed in, “That won’t be a problem for me, I can make time tomorrow to keep an eye on the cameras. Did he have anything else to say?”

“He doesn’t like Joker, at all. Apparently he doesn’t even bother making alliances with him, and Croc’s on the ‘hard to reason with’ list apparently, so that’s two new things. Leaving us with what, _ten_ things we know about the guy?” Jason heard his voice go sour near the end but couldn’t bring himself to care.

It may have been due to his age and relative newness, but they knew next to nothing about Red X, and it grated at both him and Bruce. The guy just showed up a year ago, stealing and selling whatever he wanted to, be it info or art, to the highest bidder and occasionally taking commissions if he was hired to do so. Already he had free access to most of the Rogue’s territories, and a standing agreement of some sort that stopped him from selling information deemed too sensitive to other Rogues. The gangs had also started avoiding him after the last group to try and take his territory had every one of their computers hacked and every base raided by the GCPD within a week.

Honestly the kid felt like the information-equivalent of Catwoman, but asking her about him yielded no results outside of learning that he brings her any strays he finds out on the streets. And venturing into his territory, while not dangerous, only led to suspicious looks and tight lips from the people that lived there. For whatever reason, they _liked_ the kid, and wouldn’t give him up to the resident vigilantes. 

Batman spoke up again, grabbing Jason’s attention. “Robin, return to the Cave. We can pursue Red X on another day, but we’ll give him some leeway for the info. If it’s _false_ , however...” He trailed off into a growl and Jason nodded, grinning a little.

“Sure thing, boss.”

Jason would probably never tell Bruce, but he actually liked Red X. Sure, the guy can be irritating and hard as hell to catch, but he was _Jason’s_ Rogue. He appeared after Dick’s stint as Robin, and taunts both Batman and Robin but it was _Robin_ he directed most of his banter toward, and Jason always enjoyed bantering back. One time Red X had straight up given them the info he’d nicked from a gang when Jason managed to win the argument they’d been having regarding “Flowers for Algernon”, the thief laughing as he tossed Jason the flash drive and ran off while he and Bruce were momentarily surprised.

So yeah, Red X was Robin’s Rogue, _Jason’s_ Rogue, and it was hard not feel a little warm at the thought.

* * *

Tim swung his legs back and forth in boredom as he perched himself at the bar counter, watching the poker game happening at the nearby table with some interest. The bartender has given up trying to shoo him away from the bar for quite some time, once he saw that Tim wasn’t interested in stealing a sip of the alcohol and especially after he brought the man some of the illegally imported drinks that were being shipped to Gotham that he snuck out before he’d tipped off the police. The little gang that had been trying get a foothold with the drinks was wiped out, and his favorite bar got some new bottles out of it. Win-win.

He smiled as Jared whooped in glee, throwing his hand down to reveal a straight that sent the rest of the table cursing at him as he collected his winnings with a smug grin. “He acts like it’s all skill,” he murmured to the bartender, who snorted and put down a can of coke for him.

“There’s some skill involved,” the man admitted, “but not _that_ much really.”

Tim grinned crookedly at him and thanked him for the coke, taking a sip as he looked around the club in fascination. He’d never been in while they were closing down, and it was interesting to see the employees slowly wind down as he helped them clean up for the night. It was four in the morning but Tim wasn’t concerned; it was now Saturday morning, and his parents wouldn’t come back for another month or so. “Thanks for letting me stay with you guys, Franky.”

Franky shrugged his massive shoulders and grabbed a glass to wipe to keep his hands busy. “It’s no problem at all, Alvin. I’d rather have you here that out wandering just ‘cause your insomnia is getting to ya again. You’re even helping with the bookkeeping as thanks; that’s more than most people would do, though the fact you’re like eight and can do the bookkeeping scares me a bit.”

Tim laughed and smiled at the man. “Mom and Dad aren’t around often, and I wanted to help out where I could so I started learning last year.” His smile then morphed into an irritated pout that had the man chuckling. “And I’m not _eight_. I’m _thirteen_.” Ah, the joys of false identities.

“You’re scrawny as fuck is what you are,” Garett called out from his spot at the poker table, and the group broke in raucous laughs as Tim hurled his lemon wedge at the man with a cry of indignation.

“I didn’t come here to be insulted, you asshole!” He made sure to sound comically offended rather than sincere. “I won’t stand for it!”

“Wouldn’t have done you any good either way, little man. Don’t think you’d reach my stomach if you _were_ standing for it.” That set them all off again as Tim threw another lemon wedge at him, Franky too busy laughing to protest.

Tim didn’t bother to hide his smile as he flipped off the man and turned back to Franky in a huff, drinking his coke as rudely and noisily as possible to their continued amusement. Ever since Jared had gotten him permission to hang around the employee lounge during working hours and bar after hours, Tim found himself visiting even more than he was before, out of costume more often than not. 

The guys didn’t care about him loitering, and when he started pulling his weight they easily warmed to him, and he to them. They all knew Alvin was a fake name, but had no issue calling him by when he popped up (though he did note that he need to work a little on lying about his identity in the future). They were his friends, and that was a pretty cool feeling.

Eventually he felt the need to head back to his house, and waved at all of them as he collected his jacket and bag. “I’m heading home, I’ll catch you guys later!”

“Try to actually get some sleep, Alvin, you hear me?!” One of them shouted.

Tim laughed and got his skateboard from by the door. “No promises,” he called back cheekily, before getting on the board and heading home.

Tim made sure to stay away from the borders of the gangs that were active at this time and was home in a few minutes, and suddenly stopped and frowned in confusion. Something felt off about the house, and he wasn’t sure what. As he grew closer he felt dread begin to pool in his stomach. There was a car parked outside on the driveway. The outdoor light was on, but Tim had forgotten to turn it on when he was leaving that morning. Before he could do anything – run away being the first thing to come to mind – the door opened, and he froze in horror.

Janet Drake was standing there, and she looked displeased.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim has to deal with the consequences of getting caught out of the house late. He's certainly never doing _that_ again.

Chapter 3

His mother stood there, watching him with cold, calculating eyes, and Tim wanted nothing more than to be struck down by lightning at that very instant. Death was preferable to whatever his mother would do to him if she found out _everything_ he did at night. 

He'd been doing a rather impressive job of laying low and staying at the house whenever his parents were scheduled to return home for a few days before they left again, keeping his grades up and going to the self-defense classes they had set up for him when he'd expressed interest.

(They let him choose, and he went with traditional styles for two months before switching to Krav Maga for the last four months his parents had allowed. Now _that_ had turned out to be a good choice for him.)

But this time they'd arrived earlier than scheduled, and Tim could feel the world ending around him.

Instead of letting all of those thoughts (or the unintelligible mental screaming) show on his face, he allowed a surprised and guilty expression to settle over his features, thanking the darkness of pre-dawn for obscuring his features even further. "Mother," he greeted, letting his voice tilt up on the first syllable to indicate surprise. "I thought you and Dad weren't due back for another month."

Rather than respond right away, Janet watched him, analyzing his clothes, his hair, the way he was holding himself, grabbing everything she could from observation. Tim didn't fidget, used enough to his mother's scrutiny, and eventually she moved slightly the side, the command to enter the house loud and clear. He obeyed instantly.

The rest of the house was dark as she led him to her study, and never had his home felt as unwelcoming as it did right at this moment. When they arrived in her study Janet sat down behind her desk and Tim obeyed the implied command and sat down across from her, bag placed at his feet.

His mother's stare never relented. "Why were you out so late?" She asked, cutting to heart of her disapproval.

Tim swallowed and dropped his eyes, mind in a frenzy to think up a good answer that she would accept. His foot nudged his bag and he had to bite back the rush of relief as an idea hit him. "I...I've been taking pictures, but my preferred subjects don't come out until late at night," he answered, embarrassment and nervousness clear on his face.

Her eyes narrowed and an eyebrow lifted minutely. "Your preferred subjects being?"

Tim was tempted to mutter his answer but knew it would give him away immediately; his mother never tolerated mumbling in her presence. "Batman and Robin," he said in a subdued manner, and wasn't even pretending as his face turned a dull red.

Her other eyebrow rose to match the first and Janet stared a moment longer before extending a hand towards him. Tim obediently withdrew his camera from his bag and handed it over, watching in worried anticipation as she scrolled through the reel and saw both his scattering of miscellaneous photos and his rather large collection of Batman and Robin photos that he has not yet had a chance to develop.

She was silent for several minutes before lowering the camera slightly and looking back at Tim. "This is why you requested self-defense classes?"

"Yes ma'am."

"Your grades have not dropped?"

"No ma'am," he confirmed with a small hint of pride.

"No one has seen you out at night?"

"People have seen me, but I introduce myself under an alias, and no one has caught me taking pictures of Batman and Robin."

"Should you be pursued by unsavory individuals, you have a place to retreat to?"

"Yes ma'am."

With her primary concerns assuaged Janet put his camera down without a sound. "You may continue your hobby," she allowed. "However, if your grades drop beyond an acceptable range, you will give it up until you raise your grades to be within the range again for three weeks. You will also receive more extensive self-defense classes. An old acquaintance owes me a favor and can do this much. You will not indulge in your hobby until he deems you proficient."

While incredibly reasonable of a proposal, Tim felt his stomach churn in distress as he nodded his acceptance. What if someone tried to take his territory back while he was out of commission? What if someone hurt the residents in his territory and he wasn't around to "correct" them?

His mother seemed to read his distress like an open book and tapped her nails on her desk with a meticulous click. She let out a barely heard sigh. "Your training will be daily, barring weekends, for three hours every day. I suggest you improve quickly if you wish to return to your hobby in any decent time."

"Yes mother," he acknowledged, standing when she gave him a curt nod and going to his bedroom. His camera was left resting on her desk.

That hurt Tim more deeply than he was expecting.

* * *

Jason frowned as the night began winding down without any sign of Red X for the fifth night in a row. While the other boy wasn’t out every night, he was certainly out more often than whatever’s happening right now. Jason was beginning to worry.

Bruce seemed to notice his son’s distracted demeanor but didn’t call him out on it, instead talking quietly to Oracle and scanning the city from the gargoyle he was perched on. “Still nothing?” he was asking, and Jason listened over the comm as Barbara hummed a soft negative.

“Sorry, Batman. While Red X likes to avoid the cameras, he usually lets himself be seen once or twice. I’ve got nothing, again.”

Bruce grunted. “Keep me posted.” He muted the device and turned to look at Jason. “This is suspicious. Did he reveal anything to you during the last confrontation you had with him?”

“Nothing that comes to mind, Boss.” Jason didn’t bother mincing words, growling under his breath as he scanned the streets for what had to have been the thousandth time. Nothing, not even the books the bastard had started leaving out when he wanted something new to argue with Jason about. “Where the fuck are you hiding you bastard,” Jason hissed, his gloves creaking as his clenched fists tightened.

He and Bruce continued patrolling for another hour, even straying into Red X's territory in an attempt to flush him out, but outside of increasingly wary looks from the Gothamites that lived there, they were unsuccessful.

At least, they were until Jason caught sight of a woman beckoning them over, irritated pinch to her mouth. He nudged Batman and the two landed carefully on the buildings around her, watching her cautiously. Jason waited for Batman to start talking, and let out an irritated sound when he did no such thing. "What is it?" He asked, giving her a glance before scanning the alley with disguised intensity. Was Red X nearby? Injured maybe? It would explain why she'd wave them down at least.

The woman crossed her arms and shifted from foot to foot. "Finally. I've been waiting for you two to sneak back in here since Red dropped off the radar. He wanted me to pass this on to the Boy Wonder." With a small shrug she tossed up to Jason what looked like a small, crappy cell phone. He yelped a little as he awkwardly juggled the device, torn between dropping it – what if it was a fucking _bomb_ – and clinging to the one thing that might confirm that his Rogue wasn't dead in a ditch somewhere.

And then Batman was next to him, trying to pry the phone out of Jason's hands, and Jason felt his dwindling patience evaporate as he tightened his grip on the phone – definitely a phone, he had a chance to weigh it and decided that it was too light to have an explosive inside it, even if Red X _were_ the type to try to kill the dynamic duo. "B, _chill out_! It's just a phone!"

" _I_ could've told you that," the woman scoffed, rolling her eyes and shoving a stray strand of hair behind her ear. She grabbed another phone and began casually texting on it. "I'm telling him you got it. He'll probably call you when he can." Her face softened for a moment, a small smile flickering into existence for a moment before it vanished behind her bored features.

Batman straightened at this information, large and menacing from the top of the building. The woman looked unimpressed. "You've been in contact with Red X? Where is he hiding?"

"Hasn't said," she shrugged, and Jason snickered as he read the _as if I'd tell you if he had_ in her body language. "Apparently he displeased someone with quite a bit of power over him, and has been told to lay low for a while.

"He didn't say how long," she continued, talking over the Batman when he opened his mouth to – most likely – ask that exact question. "He sounded bummed about it, but none of us mind – he set it up that any gang that thinks they can act up in his territory just 'cause they can't see him are in for a nasty surprise. That's all he told us." And with her message delivered the woman turned on her heel and left, entering one of the nearby houses as the dynamic duo mulled over her words.

Jason pocketed the cell phone before Bruce could think to demand he hand it over, and the man glowered sullenly at him. "Let's get back to the cave. If he calls while we're there we might have a chance to track the signal and find him."

Jason nodded at his dad, hand resting over the pouch holding his key to – at the very least – getting into contact with his Rogue. "Roger that."

* * *

Tim groaned from his spot on the floor, muscles twitching occasionally as his new teacher laughed like an asshole. "You will be the first one I kill to celebrate my new world order," the eleven-year-old swore to him, which only made the man laugh even harder.

"You'll have to make me break a sweat in our spars before you get to that point, brat." The man gave him a patronizing smile and Tim's eyes narrowed.

"One day, Mr. Wilson. One day," he tried to hiss ominously, but knew the effect was lost on a man three times his height and four times his weight who was also former military and current mercenary.

(Also, _seriously_? Why does _Deathstroke the Terminator_ owe his mother favors?! Truly, Janet Drake was the kind of frightening enigma that he aspired to be as Red X.)

“Break’s over,” Slade barked, and Tim managed to roll over just in time to avoid the boot that was aimed at his ribcage. He attempted to sweep the man’s feet out from under him but Slade simply laughed and stepped back, causing Tim to scowl at him and curse his shorter height.

This continued for another hour, Tim throwing punches and blocks as Slade dictated the fight with his superior skill, Tim occasionally trying to throw off the older man’s rhythm only to be brutally knocked aside as he refused to fall for the feints. The lesson ended as Tim was going for a kick and Slade simply grabbed his ankle and hoisted him into the air by his foot, smirking at the hateful glower being sent his way. “You’re getting better,” he told Tim, effortlessly swinging him from side to side like a pendulum before tossing him to the ground when the boy drove his other heel into the man’s fingers.

“Ah shucks, your praise just sets my heart all a-flutter,” Tim snarked, and Slade simply chuckled. Tim had started out acting like the obedient mama’s boy he knew Slade had been expecting, but honestly found the man too irritating to maintain his composure in such an act, and had reverted to his Red X persona. 

The mercenary had approved and began to seriously train him following the shift in attitude.

Slade continued on after giving Tim a few seconds to tend to his bruised ego. “You’ll be able to defend against kids your age with no problem, but it’s the gang members and adults you’ll be having a hard time against. You still don’t know how to fight against someone with a severe height and weight advantage.” Slade’s eyes narrowed in contemplation, and Tim’s mirrored his in suspicion. “Perhaps a weapon will help you even the odds. I’ll bring a few in next week.”

“You’re just getting bored of kicking my ass the same way over and over again,” Tim accused, before let out an indignant sound as Slade hummed.

“That too,” he confirmed, before turning and grabbing his duffle bag. He hoisted it onto his shoulder and waved at his reluctant student. “I’ll be back Monday, and try to actually surprise me in our next starting spar.”

Tim glared at him as he left, and kept his glare fixed onto the door until he heard the clear sound of a vehicle leaving the driveway. “How my mother put up with him long enough to get several favors from him, I’ll never understand.”

His parents had left once again at the end of his second week under the tutelage of Slade, but Tim was not dumb enough to return to the streets as Red X before he kept his end of the deal with his mother. He wasn't sure how, but she'd find out, and then death would be preferable to whatever she'd do after that.

In the mean time, however, he had enough info on the more power-hungry near his territory that it hung over them like a guillotine, daring them to intrude on his turf. He also managed to convince Robin to patrol around his area whenever he had free time, in exchange for the unofficial smuggling schedule at the harbor that some of the gangs had created.

Tim smiled a little at the thought of the Boy Wonder and got up to prepare dinner with Mrs. Mac, who'd finally popped up from wherever she'd been during his training. They had a late dinner and soon Mrs. Mac bade him a goodbye and saw herself out, leaving Tim to the oppressive silence of an empty house. He thought of going out as Red X again, before forcefully removing the thought. Red X was too high profile, and with Deathstroke in the area Tim might very well have his identity discovered if the man actually tailed him one night.

However, that didn't mean he couldn't leave the house _at all_ , and Tim perked up and headed up to his room for some of his clubbing gear. Both Tim and Red X were under house arrest, but if he played his cards right _Alvin_ should be free to run around. And Tim is turning into _quite_ the card player.

Two hours later saw Alvin Draper perched behind the bar of his favorite club, watching with interest as Franky mixed three different drinks and recited recipes to Alvin for him to memorize. As he parroted them back Franky served the drinks he'd been making and picked up an empty glass, handing it over to Alvin for him to clean. He continued helping out around the bar for another hour, the club patrons now used to the tiny slip of a kid that would come in to help out and seek shelter from the dreary Gotham weather.

When the hour passed Alvin waited for Franky to finish a drink before gesturing to the employee lounge, and the man nodded an acknowledgement and moved his attention to a person who had just sat down.

Alvin escaped to the lounge and let out a large yawn and stretched until his back let out a loud crack before retreating to a room reserved for employees to make calls in private. With a small grin he pulled out a small device and the sleek, innocuous phone he kept on his person and dialed in a number he’d memorized. 

It rang three times before a person picked it up, sounding both irritated and relieved. “What the hell, X? I was in the middle of a fight!”

He scoffed and leaned against the wall, eyes trained on the flickering ceiling light after he’d rolled them. He put the device to his mouth and when he spoke, it came out mechanized like it normally did when wearing his Red X mask. “And I’m just supposed to _know_ that? You give me a bit too much credit there, Foxy. I haven’t managed to get an eye on _every_ happening in Gotham yet. Give me another year or so.”

“Yeah whatever,” Robin dismissed, and Red X let out a small chuckle. "You know my schedule well enough to call whenever I'm not at the Cave, I just presume you know where I am most of the time."

"I can only guess," Red X admitted easily, smiling at the flickering light. "I don't want the vampire to track me on my crappy little phone, but I like chatting with you too much to keep away." He'd actually spent quite a bit of stolen money to make the phone untraceable and near-indestructible, but didn't want the Bats to figure that out quite yet.

"Lucky me," Robin scoffed, but Red X heard the smile behind his voice and wasn't bothered by it. "I just finished patrolling your area, everything looks good. Saw some new people in the center of the territory, looked like they just got there."

He hummed into the phone at that news. "Some people use my area as neutral grounds for talks or to seek sanctuary. I already briefed someone on what to do if newcomers approach regarding either scenario, so there shouldn't be an issue, but I'll let you know if a turf war breaks out on my porch." He scowled at the thought, and planned bloody retribution for someone harming his people.

While Red X wasn't known for killing people, that didn't mean he was above breaking bones if he or someone else was being threatened and it would minimize injuries. And a gang pushing into _his_ territory could only hurt the people under his protection.

He then shook the thought out of his head and returned his attention to Robin, and the two of them continued to talk for another hour about anything that came to mind, most of it consisting of new movies that came out and books they'd both read, before he reluctantly bid the older boy a good night and hung up.

He put the device and phone back into his bag, and headed out the door, leaving the club with a small wave goodbye to Franky and the bouncers currently on shift. He slipped his bag on and got on his board, skating down a few streets to lose any tails before bus hopping close to his house.

When he stepped off the bus he was no longer Alvin Draper but the well-mannered (when not around Deathstroke the fucking Terminator) Tim Drake, and took the rest of the walk home easily, waving at the occasional police car that would slow before recognizing him and move on. He entered his house through a side door and carefully locked up, listening for anything amiss and finding nothing. He went to bed with a content smile on his face, everything put away except the phone he cradled to his chest.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim gets the belt and Slade's fear of his mother remains a mystery to him.

Three months.

_Three months_ of “training” with Deathstroke without once running around as Red X, only being able to manage his people from the safety of the employee private room as Alvin Draper. Three months of having the crap beaten out of him by Slade with a variety of weapons and styles.

Scratch that. He spent a month and a half with Slade, before the man called in his _own_ favors and sent him off to Hong Kong, where he was then trained by King Snake for another month and a half (and his mother didn't ask any questions as she sent the school a missive that he would be traveling with the family for that month and a half. Tim doesn't even know _what_ to think anymore). The man eventually thought he'd taught Tim enough after Tim lost his temper and boxed the other man's ears while in the middle of a spar before sweeping his legs out from underneath him and putting a foot on his throat.

And now he was done with them, was actually _free_ , his new collapsible bo staff both a gift from Slade and the symbol of his new freedom. Slade watched as he excitedly ran through several moves with his new bo and sighed, running a hand over his greying hair. “You're not completely done, kiddo,” he told him, and was amused to see Tim freeze and turn to look at him like something out of a horror movie.

“What.” It wasn't a question. That single word was most definitely a threat to Deathstroke's entire well-being at the hands of his reluctant apprentice. “You said I was proficient,” Tim repeated to him, voice low. “You said I was _done with you_.”

Slade mock gasped and put a hand to his heart, reveling in the irritated hiss his actions generated. “You cut me to the quick, my dear protégé. Are you truly that ready to be done with me?”

“ _Yes_ ,” was Tim's heartfelt response, ignoring the tiny part of him that appreciated having someone to snark with nearly every day and actually _notice_ when he came home. He saw Slade's expression turn smug and knew he had read his body language (which he knew far too well due to training him) and saw that tiny, traitorous piece of Tim that would miss him when he left, and so made a face at the man, collapsed the bo and stowed it away. “What more is there?”

“Two things, one a final test to prove to me you're ready to run around alone, and a...personal request.” The man didn't look embarrassed, but Tim could feel some discontent from him and moved to lean against a wall, gesturing the man to continue. Slade pulled out a dossier and casually flipped it open. “There's a shipment coming in, containing a single prototype of some experimental tech that could be used to escape nearly any situation without leaving a trace. I've received intel that that prototype is under threat of being apprehended by some...less than desirable people. I want you to intercept the shipment and make away with it yourself.”

Tim cocked his head to the side and walked up to his mentor, making grabby hands and flipping through the dossier when it was given over. “You don’t have who these less than desirable people are detailed in here,” he pointed out, narrowing his eyes at his mentor when the man simply shrugged at him.

“I want it to be a surprise,” he answered with fanfare, and Tim hissed at him before continuing to skim through the details.

“It's theorized to synchronize with the wearer's body and – it _uses alien tech_ to _read your mind_? I can see why it's experimental, but what the hell? Xenothium, huh? It says here it's man-made, and was synthesized based in part on volatile promethium. How does it function as a battery for the tech?”

“Supposedly it can absorb nearly all kinds of energy, with thermal being the confirmed one, so it has an easy time recharging if you just keep wearing it or leave it out in the sun long enough. It stores that energy until it needs to use it or needs to give it back to the host if they have low energy.” Slade then had the gall to shrug when Tim shot him a look at the level of info he had. “Hey, this tech is a game changer, I was looking into it the moment whispers of it hit my ears. Plus it's nearly all speculation. Fortunately I work extensively with volatile promethium myself and can make a number of theories on its behavior.”

“You know both quite a bit and less than I was hoping,” Tim sighed, nearing the end of the dossier. “Makes sense, given that it's new experimental tech. Who's making it?”

“It was successfully made elsewhere and is being shipped here so that the main branch of the company can work on it, and as for who made it...” Slade gestured for him to flip to the last page and Tim obliged, only to freeze and stare at the logo staring mockingly back up at him.

“You've _got_ to be fucking kidding me.”

“Language,” Slade chided mockingly, and Tim sent him a poisonous look in response before running a hand through his hair and tossing the dossier back to the older man.

“Why am I even doing this? What do you want the tech for?” Because honestly this man never put himself in a situation he couldn't get out of unless under extreme duress or with ten different plans. He didn't need this thing, and with a creator as well-known as this, there would be a giant target on his back if he tried to sell it. 

Well. 

A larger than _normal_ target on his back.

“You're not normally this stupid, dear apprentice,” Slade crossed his arms over his chest and casually tapped his dossier against his side. “The thing is for _you_.” That stopped Tim as he was opening his mouth to respond to the other's insult.

“What?”

“While I normally couldn't care less about the fate of anyone under my mentorship after they leave, if you get severely injured your mother will hunt me down, skin me alive and wear said skin as a warning to all other mentors you may have. So I'm not taking any chances. Plus,” and here the man narrowed his eye at him but Tim held his stare and matched it with a narrow look his own, “I feel like this will benefit your little Red X persona.” Tim hummed and rubbed his thumb of his collapsed bo but didn't do anything else. Slade quirked an eyebrow. “Not bothering to deny it, huh?”

Tim scoffed. “Please. You're not the one I'm trying to hide my night activities from. Also, since you've actually been around for a while you were bound to notice that Red X stopped making appearances the same time my mother told me to cease my hobbies until I was deemed proficient in defending myself. I was not going to risk her finding out I was still sneaking out to run through several back alleys.”

“Instead you would risk her finding out you were sneaking out to hang out in a seedy bar?” Deathstroke looked rather amused and curious about the apparent double-standard Tim had set up.

Tim waved his hand dismissively. “It's not that seedy, and I am watched by several sort-of-responsible adults whenever I'm there. She was less likely to care about that.” Tim abruptly shook his head. “But that doesn't matter at the moment. What matters is that you want me to steal some experimental technology from a rather big company while avoiding or defeating this rival group that is _also_ after the tech. And you're acting like it's a walk in the freaking park.”

Slade rolled his eyes. “Will you relax? It's only Wayne Enterprises. The only people who are going to care are R&D.”

It's times like these that Tim remembers that Slade is both not a native Gothamite and doesn't hang around the upper class when he does live in the city like he is currently. He wouldn't hear the rumors the upper class have that, what with being Batman's largest financial backer, Bruce Wayne's R&D spend half of their time working on items for the vigilante. Nor does he know explicitly like Tim does that _Bruce Wayne is the fucking Batman_.

Tim forlornly remembered when he had decided to not antagonize the entire Batfamily when he first started out running around the Gotham streets. Weren't those the days.

If he was lucky, he might be able to get away relatively unscathed. “And the personal request?” He asked, instead of cursing out the other man or just leaving the room.

Slade coughed and turned slightly away, making himself a smaller target and only increasing Tim’s suspicion. “I want you to meet my daughter,” he said, and Tim felt a part of his brain just stall out and fill his head with the blue screen of death with the words “no” and “why” repeating themselves sporadically. “I want her to have a friend that _isn’t_ strictly on the side of good; I think that would help her a lot.”

Tim wants to do a number of things in response to that. Say no, for instance. Or laugh hysterically. Possibly cry a little because this mercenary for hire was in a way a better parent than his own parents ever were with him, because at least he was _trying_ in his own awkward way. But all he did was shrug. 

He could respect Slade, as a teacher, professional, even somewhat as a father. This was the least he could for the man that was holding quite a few of his secrets. “Sure. It’s not like I have many friends myself. I think it’d do us both some good.”

Slade seemed to sink a little in relief and Tim smiled, snatching the dossier out of his mentor’s hands as he went to go get suited up. He couldn’t help but wonder who his little rival will be that night as he switched his mindset to that of the Red X. He was curious.

* * *

Ninja-assassins.

He's in a race against ninja-assassins to get a teleportation device made by Batman before they do because his mercenary-slash-assassin mentor is _that_ afraid of his mother.

This officially topped any other situation Tim had been in with regards to surrealism.

Tim grunted and dropped to the ground, dodging several throwing stars as he swept one ninja's legs out from beneath them before flipping over the head of another, kicking at his skull as he passed. Another came out of his blind spot with a knife extended and Tim immediately grabbed their arm and used his leverage to break the bone, wincing at the horrible sound, before tripping him and sending him into another ninja.

Yet another darted forward with – was that a _cattle prod_? Jeez – buzzing ominously and Tim had no compunctions about turning the back on the guy as he kicked another off the harbor. And honestly – it was true that ships were a good option for sending objects with more anonymity and not catching too much attention, but planes were just overall superior. Maybe this was bait for the ninjas?

Well, Tim was caught up in this little fiasco too now, so it didn't much matter what the original intent was.

As he grabbed yet _another_ ninja – when would they _end_ – to use as a human shield Tim made sure to search through the small pouch he saw on their belt and kicked the ninja away before they could register the feeling of him stealing several smoke bombs from them. He was pleased to note that, amidst all of the fighting, he had been moving closer to the crate that he had identified earlier as the target he was looking for.

He threw down two of the smoke bombs and sprinted to it, furrowing his brow as he came across the keypad. He chewed on his cheek as he first tried Jason and Dick's birthdays (a very “Brucie” thing to do) and, when they were rejected, the date of his parents' murders (so Batman it was clear he wasn't trying to hide it with this item), smiling when the light turned green and the box unlocked.

As he lifted the lid Tim felt a force brush against his mind, not belligerent, almost as if it were curious, and figured ( _hoped_ ) that it was the tech and not some strange creature that was also being kept in the box or something equally ridiculous. Once the crate was fully open Tim peered inside and raised an eyebrow.

It was a belt.

It was plainly decorated, and looked to be worn higher around the waist than normal belts, closer to a person's center of mass. When he picked it up, Tim watched as a dim light appeared in the center of the buckle upon making contact with his glove and body heat, probably a sign that it was charging.

As he was gazing at the dim light on the belt, he heard the faint sounds of fighting pick up, along with the sound of a not-shuriken being thrown. It fact, it sounded a lot like a batara-

Fuck. 

Batman was here. Time to get away and hope that Tim had successfully hidden himself from the cameras Oracle kept scattered about.

Tim was quick to escape after that, using the smoke bombs he'd liberated from the ninja earlier as a cover to hide his departure. It was several back alleys and buildings later when he came to a stop in a safe house and began the process of changing into a civilian. An hour later he was at his house and, upon the door opening, threw the belt at Slade. “I did it,” he told the man. “There's the device. You can leave now.”

He was moving around the man before the back of his shirt was grabbed and he was dragged into the kitchen. “Not so fast, apprentice-mine. I want a look at this – _with you here dammit –_ and we need to see about “synchronizing” it to you or whatever.” Deathstroke deposited him in the middle of the room and eyed the belt. “Does it need skin contact?”

“How should I know? It didn't need it to charge; it felt the heat through my glove.” Slade gave it to him to put on and he did so, buckling and tightening it easily on his waist. Nothing happened. “Hm, maybe it needs skin contact to synchronize?” As he was adjusting that Slade circled him to examine the belt.

“Is there anything in the front?” He asked and Tim looked down to see the lights in the center had slowly starting extending to the corners as it charged, forming a slowly growing X.

Tim scowled. “Well, the belt was either built for me, or the belt has enough sentient alien tech in it to know what's going on and possibly approve. Maybe...” He grew quiet and felt the foreign presence brushing against his mind. Instead of ignoring it, he tried to reach out to it, tried to tell it that he wanted to work with it, be free with it, run around the city with the belt helping to keep him safe.

And he felt the presence agree as it _clamped down_. He let out a surprised sound that quickly turned pained as the belt tightened and what felt like a spike drove into his side, taking blood and retracting again. He heard the belt beep and felt cold metal creeping up his back. “Slade, what's going on?”

“The belt's doing something,” was all he said, and Tim wanted to say _no shit_ back to him, wanted to hit him because he'd figured that much out, thanks.

Instead he screamed as spikes drove into his back, deeper and deeper, until he thought they were going to touch both sides of his spine before they started to retract, and the metal began to recede back to his waist. And even then, when the belt let out another beep, he thought he could feel something still deep in his back, three or four pairs of metal spikes nestled into his back and cradling his spine. Slade remained silent, so Tim pushed a little. “Are there...is there something in my back?”

Slade remained silent, so Tim twisted to look at him, feeling a deep _ache_ all along his back from what just happened. He was expressionless. “You have six ports ranging up your spine, three on each side, that all are in different nerve regions. From the looks of things, the nerves it aimed at were not likely to move much as you age and grow, but this might stunt your growth a little.” He then had the gall to shrug at Tim in what Tim suspected was an attempt to lighten the mood. “Not that it matters, you were going to be a scrawny thing _without_ the belt doing this.”

Tim made an offended noise and slipped the belt off, feeling how the presence in his mind became quieter but was still there, connected to him now. Probably due to what just happened. “I think I’m synchronized to the belt now,” he told Slade, and took some pleasure in the dry look he got in response. He tried to give the man the belt but he just raised his hands up and stepped away until Tim huffed and put it back on, shivering as the metal began to reheat and the presence became slightly more pronounced.

“Want to test it out?”

“Definitely not,” Tim answered, feeling how subdued the presence still was in his mind regardless of him putting it on. “I think synchronizing with it gave me a constant awareness of its “battery”, and it needs some more juice before I try teleporting anywhere substantial.” Also he was in pain and would enjoy sleeping a few thousand years before he got out of bed again. “Grab a room, or a couch, or whatever, but I will actually attempt to kill you if you wake me before noon tomorrow, and then you will _actually_ kill me and then all of this will be for nothing.”

Slade laughed at him again but Tim stopped paying him any mind, imagining the softness of his bed and the dark lighting of his room and how much he _wanted to be there_ –

And found himself laying on his bed with a headache the size of Metropolis, the cold of metal running up his spine and the battery even lower than it was earlier, back to being a blinking dot in the center of the buckle. Tim blinked at the ceiling in confusion, and heard the pounding of boots as Slade sprinted upstairs, but fell asleep before he opened the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally the Xenothium was intended to be based off of kryptonite but, once I found out how DC portrays promethium in its comics, it was easy to switch.
> 
> Also I'm running out of things to post, so I may enter a dry spell in about a month if I maintain this 10-14 day update schedule, as a heads up.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason and Bruce have a disagreement, and Tim's back on the streets.

When Jason went down into the cave Bruce looked displeased. “It appears your Rogue has returned to running around Gotham,” he told Jason, scowling as he returned his gaze to the Batcomputer. 

Jason perked up a little at that and ran over to the computer, looking for the security feed. “Red X is back? Oracle catch him on the cameras?”

“Briefly,” Bruce confirmed, bringing up a feed that had Red X taking out a ninja before moving out of view. “He's improved,” Bruce noted. “Those were Ra's' ninja. I had set up some bait to trap more of his people to question them where their Gotham base was. Unfortunately,” here Bruce scowled and showed a feed that was completely obscured by the smoke filling up the area, “the bait was gone before I could secure the area. I think Red X took it.”

“Did it have a tracker in it?” Jason asked, torn between excitement and something that felt a little like disappointment. _He_ had wanted to discover Red X's identity, not have something as simple as that give it away.

Fortunately, Bruce should his head. “The technology used to make the belt has alien origins, and it showed signs of having a mind of its own. Whenever we tried to build a tracker in it would become deactivated, and the belt itself would fry any trackers we tried to attach externally. And the thief hasn't been outright malicious; he's mostly holding down his territory and pitting groups against each other, so it's not like it's the end of the world that Red X has the belt now. The only irritating part is its core.”

“I wouldn’t know, B, you haven't told me anything about it,” Jason winced as some of his bitterness slipped through but Bruce didn't seem to notice.

“The core is powered by an element called Xenothium. Normally Xenothium slowly decays, generating heat that can be utilized to create energy. However, the Xenothium used as a battery in the belt has been stabilized, and instead _absorbs_ heat from its surroundings and stores it as energy. The belt then draws from the energy to power the teleportation device within it.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold up. A _teleportation device_? Red X can _teleport at will_ now?!” Jason couldn't even imagine how horrible trying to chase him would be. Even if it was only restricted to line of sight, he'd be able to slip out of his grasp with no issue at all.

“Yes, and it won’t be easy to remove the belt from his possession if he’s successfully managed to synchronize with it. The researchers didn’t tell me much about it, but it sounded rather painful.”

Jason stared at his father in confusion and a quickly rising anger. He doesn't say it often, but he was fond of his Rogue, and Red X was his age or close to it! Bruce's dispassion at leading to a child's injuries was quickly rising to alarming in Jason's mind. Maybe he was not thinking of Red X as a child, but instead as a criminal and thief? Jason exercised that thought process often when dealing with criminals in Gotham, but Red X was a _kid_! He kind of needed to be seen as both in order for him and others to be kept safe! “Bruce, why did you lay down bait for the League of Assassins? They were in Gotham before you even did that.”

“That's precisely why I set the trap,” Bruce answered, switching between the camera feeds scattered in the harbor from the night of the trap and scowling. Probably trying to find more footage of Red X. “Ra's was getting too deeply rooted into Gotham, I needed a way to remove a large amount of his forces from Gotham so that he would retreat to lick his wounds. The belt was too tempting for him to not go for. Imagine an assassin with limited teleportation; there would have been a huge spike in assassinations and contracts accepted. I knew he'd go for it, I just wasn't expecting Red X to return to running through Gotham on that exact day as well.”

“Great. So Red X, a kid my age, got injured because of your little power play against Ra's.” Bruce clearly heard how discontent Jason was that time and turned around, taking in his son's crossed arms and irritated scowl.

“Jason,” he sighed, looking older than he did even a moment before, “Red X stopped being a kid the moment he became a criminal. You know that.”

“He's _both_ , B,” Jason snapped, his grip on his arms tightening. “You told me I stopped being a kid when I became Robin, but I'm still treated like one because your criminal or vigilante status doesn't affect your _age_. It doesn't change your physical limits, or the fact that things _hurt_ , or the idea that you're collateral in one of Batman's _powerplays_. That could seriously mess him up. You can't treat me like a kid and him like a criminal when you told me neither of us are actually kids.”

“You are my son, Jason. I have every right to treat you like a kid,” Bruce reminded him, and Jason subsided a little, but was clearly displeased. “Furthermore, I don't _want_ Red X to be a criminal. Perhaps I am being more strict regarding his capture because I don't want him going down that road and I'm trying to help him. You need to trust me, Jason. I'm doing this for Red X.”

_I highly doubt that_ , Jason barely stopped himself from saying. _That's hard to do when you clearly don't trust me yourself, B_ , was also ruthlessly held back, but it was a near thing. Instead he huffed and left the room, Bruce's gaze heavy on his back. He got suited up and left, needing to patrol alone to work off some of his anger.

* * *

Teleportation, Tim has discovered, is a rather tricky thing, if understandably so.

He could teleport most easily to a place he'd been before that he could imagine around him. It didn't need to be completely correct either – he didn't need to remember that he'd put his copy of “The Prince” on his desk rather than his bedside table like normal for him to successfully teleport to his room. He simply needed a good, accurate memory of his room to arrive there.

He could also teleport to a place he hadn't been before if he had an image in his mind and an idea of where it was. Exact coordinates weren't needed but he had to be able to point to its general location on a map. This, however, was a huge drain on energy in comparison to being familiar with the place he was teleporting to. It was also less reliable.

(What he's trying to say is that his attempt to teleport to a part of the park Ivy frequented landed him in a tree feeling like he hadn't eaten lunch and banged his head on the kitchen table. Fortunately, Ivy was amused by it all and let him leave with little issue. Unfortunately, Slade was amused too.)

This was the only reason he hadn't scared the ninja-assassins off after he did some aggressive digging and started to make maneuvers to get them out of his city. League of Assassins? In _Gotham_? It was more likely than you'd think, apparently. And that displeased Tim quite a bit.

So he started stalking them, looking for flickering shadows in the parts of Gotham he hadn't extended to quite yet. The gang members who saw him all knew better than to speak up or report sighting him; it was clear he was on a mission that didn't involve them, and they didn't want to drag his attention onto them and make their bosses either lose territory or suddenly be pressed back down with even _more_ blackmail that he'd dug up.

He lost track of the ninja more often than not, but he was getting a hang of their movements and thinks he might be able to successfully follow one given a month or two.

Until then...

“Hey, Foxy,” Tim greeted, Red X mask firmly in place as he teleported onto the roof he'd seen his Robin perching on. Immediately he was out of breath from the displacement but began to recover while Jason grunted a vague acknowledgement at him. Tim frowned and sat next to his primary pursuer, far enough away to not immediately be grabbable but still offering the other company. “What's got your tail in twist?”

“B and I got into a fight,” Jason admitted, before shaking his head. “Not much of a fight, really. I’m mad and he still thinks he’s right, so nothing really came of it.”

Tim hummed and swung his legs a little as he leaned back. “He might think about what he said that upset you, I don’t think _nothing_ came of it,” he offered before shrugging. “I wouldn’t know, though, I haven’t had an authority in my life around long enough for me to actually get into a fight with them.” Because Mrs. Mac wouldn’t fight him on nearly anything, his parents weren’t ever around, and Slade has only been around for a few months. They also had the added benefit of having similar personalities and senses of humor, so it was rare for them to actually disagree on anything so much that they’d fight.

Jason hummed. “I know the feeling,” he said, sounding sympathetic and bitter about something. If Tim remembers correctly, Jason wasn't in a good place before Bruce adopted. Of course, that was what the newspapers were saying at least, and Tim had taken to reading those with a small but healthy dose of skepticism at this point. But this had more evidence to it than some of the Gotham elites' other rumors in the way Jason talked, the way he interacted with criminals and various people he'd rescued.

Jason Todd was Gotham's second favorite “rags to riches” story, second only to Dick Grayson.

“Little Wing, you okay? B called, told me you too had a fight.”

...Who clearly had an actor's sense for dramatic timing.

Tim turned towards Jason and put one leg on the other side of the ledge for improved stability while his Robin spun around and glared at stiff but concerned looking Nightwing. “How'd you find me?” Jason asked, looking irritated and a little paranoid. “Been following me for long?”

“No, no, nothing like that!” Dick's hands waved through the air as he withdrew a little with the force of the other boy's suspicion and Tim wanted to laugh, but he didn't want to see two of Gotham's favorite orphans come to blows in front of him so he scooted a little closer and nudged Jason with a foot.

“Nah, you probably have a tracker or something on you.” He watched as Jason and Nightwing's gazes locked onto him and shrugged, resisting the urge to shiver as the belt's metal spine moved with his muscles. “What? If _I_ was an adult, and had a minor running around at night in Gotham wearing tights, _I'd_ put a tracker on him in case something happened. I'd probably chip them so that it wouldn't be lost easily if it weren't bound to get me a bunch of weird looks.”

“Um, who are you?” Nightwing finally asked, taking in Tim's skull mask and how absolutely no skin was shown as Jason stewed a little next to him.

Tim was irritated that he felt a stab of hurt (he's literally in a mask, _why would Dick recognize him_ ) and decided to simply roll with it, clutching his heart dramatically and leaning away. “Are you saying my little fox has told you _nothing_ about me,” he cried out, sounding grievously offended, and relished in the way Jason spluttered out a “why the hell would I talk about you” with his face rapidly gaining a red hue.

Nightwing looked curious and a little amused. “He hasn't,” he confirmed, stepping closer. Tim swung his other leg over so both were firmly planted on the roof, and shifted back to his original spot away from Robin. “Are you his friend? I didn't know there was another vigilante running around.”

“That's 'cause there isn't,” Tim admitted easily.

Dick frowned. “From a different city, then?”

“Nope.” He was having far too much fun with this. “I'm Gotham born and bred.”

“He's my _Rogue_ you idiot!” Jason snapped, glaring at the older vigilante.

Nightwing looked surprised. “So, why aren't you trying to catch him?” He asked, turning to better take in Red X. He tensed in preparation for an attack or attempt to escape.

Tim smiled beneath his mask as he raised his hands up. “Easy there, Big Bird. This is my second night back in three months. You'll forgive me if I'm not interested in being chased around all night; I need to make sure everything's good in my territory, gotta set up a treaty or two from the sounds of things. I just wanted to drop by and say hi to my frenemy.” He jumped to his feet, noting the way Dick seemed to become startled by his words, and got on the ledge. He tossed Jason a flash drive before giving him a small salute. “I'll catch you later, Foxy.”

And then he disappeared, reappearing in his primary headquarters, and waved at the sixteen year old that turned in surprise and stared at him. “Hey, Alex,” he chirped, happy to see the first person he had ever saved safe and well in his office, typing away at the laptop he'd bought for her with some of the money he'd accumulated from a year and a half of crime. “I'm back!”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The League of Assassins oversteps their bounds, and Red X begins to make a power play.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update, folks, real life's been busy. I hope to continue my normal update schedule back on track.

Chapter 6

Jake Emerett smiled to himself as he handed Red X a small manila folder. "Present for you," he chirped, not even bothering to shrink back at the blank gaze Red X leveled him.

"I'm beginning to hate your presents," the thief told him as he flipped it open and glanced through. His displeasure was obvious, even through his voice mechanizer. "I'm actually back for a month and _now_ the other gangs are starting to cause trouble?"

"Sudden change in leadership," Jake explained, left hand fiddling with the necklace one of the others had started making, rolling the red "x" from point to point with his fingers. "They think you don't have dirt on them."

"This is still rather uppity of them," Red X mused, his free hand reaching out to grab the folder on the other gang that had been acting up. "I thank my connections that the Ghost Dragons are listening to their leader and fucking off my territory; I don't want any of them on my turf until they sign my non-aggression pact. This would be a nightmare otherwise." Whatever else he wanted to say was interrupted as a runner came in.

“Sir, we’ve received reports that people have been entering the territory expressing interest in a deal with you, but refuse to say what group they represent. They keep insisting that they wish to meet with you alone.” He looked uncomfortable, and Jake felt the same. Red X stopped holding meetings in private when one gang leader tried to kill him during their meeting, and he now had it set up that three of his “enforcers” were there as well.

Red X leaned back and flipped through the photos that were handed to him, pausing on one. “Hmmm, he looks familiar. Let’s see…” Pushing his rolling chair to the filing cabinet behind him Red X began rifling through one particular drawer. “When one thinks of ruling a piece of Gotham’s underground they don’t think about how much busywork is involved I bet. Remind me to appoint an assistant or something. Ah! Here we go.” He pulled out a dossier and threw it onto the table, some of the photos falling out and scattering into view.

Jake and the runner (Jake thinks his name is Lou) looked at the pictures in confusion. “The old Maroni building?” Lou asked, turning one picture for him to get a better view.

“The very same,” Red X confirmed. “No one’s been stupid enough to claim it since what happened to the Maroni Family; no one’s wanted to touch the building ‘cause they’re afraid Two-Face will get mad at them. However, I’ve noticed a few shadows flickering through our city, and they’re most active around that building in particular. What you need to look at is this,” he put one photo in the center of the table. “I managed to snap a shot of one of the ones I see the most. Look familiar?”

It was the same person, with more to obscure their face but the build, clothing and what facial features they could see were the same. “So who are they?” Jake asked, fiddling with his necklace again. “New gang in town?”

Red X shook his head. “Ninja-assassins,” he told them bluntly, leaning in his chair again. He seemed to be look straight up at the ceiling. “Jake,” he called, pulling the older boy out of his shock (because _what_? Why were ninja-assassins in _Gotham_?). “Those sudden changes in leadership within the Vultures and the Riders. Was that a decision made by the gangs themselves?”

“No, Boss. Rumor has it they were killed.”

“Someone’s trying to pressure me into either an alliance or a shallow grave,” Red X said mostly to himself. He rocked back a little. “As much as I hate to admit it, I’m having a hard time digging anything up on this “League of Assassins”, but I would bet anything their boss is a bit of a sore loser, and I did win this lovely prize at the last test your skill game I had with their little group.” He tapped his belt buckle and let out a mechanical hum that put a shiver down Jake’s spine, despite the number of times he’s heard it. Lou shuddered as well.

It was then that Red X stood, looking small in comparison to the two teens reporting to him and yet Jake never once thought anyone else held the power in this room. “It’s only been a month and I’m tired of these ninja-assassins loitering in my territory. Lou, if any of them ask for a meeting again, tell them I’m busy dealing with the gangs. Pass that order on. Jake, deploy the Knights. I want the area surrounding the Maroni building to be evacuated in two weeks.”

The two teens gave their acknowledgements (and it really said something about how the runners were trained versus the Knights; Lou was so flustered he _saluted_ ) and followed behind Red X as he passed them. “We turning the tables on them?” Jake asked for confirmation.

Red X laughed, and were he less certain of his safety Jake would’ve had ice in his veins from the sound alone. “Sort of. It’s more we’re telling them to stop poking the fledgling dragon with a stick; it’s already got a set of teeth on it, and can breathe fire no matter how young it is.”

* * *

Tim wasn't sure what to do as he loitered around Robinson Park, hands in the pockets he finally got around to installing into the Red X suit for the sole purpose of doing just that. He cleared his throat awkwardly and winced at the horrible sound that came out of the mechanizer in response before looking at a tree. "I need to talk to Ivy," he told it, rocking on his heels. "Can you get her?"

The woman had been laying low for a little while now, but Tim was one of the few who almost always knew when a rogue was in Blackgate, Arkham, or anywhere else. He couldn't afford to let information like that become out of date.

However, he had no idea if you could reach her by talking to her plants. Guess he would find out now. "I brought a gift?" He offered to the tree when it remained motionless and silent, holding up a packet of iris seeds he'd brought with him in a hope that she would like them.

The tree remained unmoved and Tim lingered for fifteen more minutes before he sighed. He opened the packet and scattered the seeds into the park from his spot outside of it – no point in "holding the seeds hostage", that wasn't likely to win him any points with the woman – before turning. Maybe he could synthesize something in Dr. Crane's labs along with the other item he wished to discuss with the man, he knows the man also got out of Arkham recently and was hiding in one of the labs Batman didn't know about for the time being.

He'd only taken a few steps when he heard the shifting of what sounded like an entire forest behind him. Tim turned around, and took in the way the irises had already bloomed and where shooting up to be as high as his knee. He then looked up at the woman observing him from the tree he'd been asking questions to and waved a little. "Good evening, Dr. Isley," he greeted.

Poison Ivy smiled a little at him and tilted her head to the side. "I heard that you wished to talk with me."

Tim mentally fist pumped at the confirmed theory but quickly regained his composure. "I wish to ask for some paralyzing pollen you may have. I want to mix it with an aerosol and have it last for...perhaps three hours."

The woman gave him a curious look as she lounged on her arboreal throne. "What will you use this pollen for? It is unlike you to need it for something as paltry as breaking into a building."

Tim crossed his arms and didn't bother hiding his displeasure. "Someone's trying to put pressure on me and my territory. They killed two of the gangs I don't have an alliance with and put people too dumb to be afraid of me in charge and are trying to request a private meeting despite my awareness that they are trained assassins. To be frank I don't want to follow whatever convoluted rules they've made for this game; they're threatening _my_ people and _my_ territory, so I want to give a show of force so that they stopped trying to push my buttons."

Pamela hummed and thought about it while Tim observed the irises blooming steadily in her presence. The petals were a healthy dark blue and they were slowly growing higher until they reached the middle of his thigh by the time Poison Ivy spoke again. "I'll give you the pollen if you do something for me as well."

"Oh? What did you have in mind?" Tim asked, working to keep his shoulders from hunching defensively. Pamela knew he was dedicated to remaining neutral, and had a friendship with Selina, so hopefully she wouldn't ask anything that he would consider too much of him.

Poison Ivy waved her hand and a seed rose up from the ground in front of him, making him crouch down to better look at it. It looked like a normal seed, though with hints of red that looked out of place. "It's a hybrid species I'm working on," she gave as an explanation when he looked back up at her. "I have one growing here, but Batman is likely to try and destroy it if he succeeds in apprehending me. I want you to plant it in your territory. If Batman doesn't destroy mine, I can observe how they respond to growing in different environments, and if he does, then all of my work won't have been for nothing."

"It won't cause my people to enter a mating season or something crazy will it? Or kill anyone that gets too close?" Tim was already putting the seed in the packet that had held the iris seeds, carefully stowing it away. He didn't worry much about himself because the mask had a built-in air filter – one never knew what the police, Bats, or more finicky criminals were bound to throw at you, so it never hurt to be prepared. With that in mind, he'd built and modified the suit to be gas-proof, water-repellant, flame-retardant and as close to bulletproof as he could make it and retain mobility.

Poison Ivy shook her head. "Its pollen has a tranquilizing effect, but won't affect anyone noticeably unless they inhale a large amount of it in a short span of time. Water it once a week; it was created with endurance in mind."

"Fantastic," Tim said idly, thinking about where he could put it. Outside his main headquarters was a recipe for disaster, he decided sadly; he migrated through bases so often that he didn't want anyone to pick up on which house he favored as his primary headquarters. Perhaps just in the center of his territory would work. There were a scattering of trees and a sad-looking park there if he remembered correctly. "I'll come back with as many containers for the paralytic as I can carry. Thank you, Dr. Isley."

* * *

Jonathan Crane watched as the young boy slowly mixed the yellow-ish powder he'd brought with him into the liquid form of his fear gas that he'd provided. "Will there be any for me when you finish?" He asked, half-jokingly, and chuckled a little as the boy look at him over his glasses, green eyes only just visible.

The boy hummed. "I can make you like, one vial that I won't need. I'm going to be smoking an entire building, Dr. Crane; I don't want to take any chances by using too little."

"Of course, Xander. I am only teasing. Though I should talk to Pamela about an alliance at some point. I think a team-up would be quite beneficial to both of us." Jonathan listened as Xander hummed again, this time in vague acknowledgement of him speaking, and smiled to himself.

It had been some time since he'd seen the boy and he was happy that he appeared to be doing well. When Red X had first appeared, Jonathan had wondered if he was yet another vigilante to interfere within Gotham, but he proved to only be looking out for himself and the street urchins he'd slowly accumulated over time. When that meant that he established his own territory and began quelling the other gangs into submission, Jonathan had little issue moving around him and did his best not to target the civilians directly under the boy's protection out of curtesy.

The boy returned the curtesy and, months into his introduction to the Gotham underworld, took off his mask and introduced himself as Alexander "call me Xander" Kyle, Selina's nephew. He had done so with only Jonathan, Pamela, Oswald, Harley, Victor and Edward present, smiling at them all rather nervously with his mask in his hands. And they'd all welcomed him in turn, Edward joking about the two people in Gotham to be crazy enough to steal things while wearing skin-tight suits being related while Harley cooed at the boy who looked tinier than he ever had before.

The boy continued to smile and banter with them, and Jonathan had to stopped himself from assuring the child that the guilt in his eyes was unnecessary, and he saw the others all do the same. After all, they all understood.

Unlike them, the boy was a child. He didn't know if he wanted to do this for the rest of his life.

It makes sense that he would lie about his identity.

Jonathan was just pleased that he had someone like Selina willing to be his "guardian" as he ran around under the pseudonym, and that Selina in turn had someone to mother that was as neutral-inclined as she was. Maybe one day the boy would tell them his real name, but Jonathan wasn't holding his breath, and Jonathan certainly didn't mind using the name Xander in the meantime.

Jonathan blinked back into awareness as the child slowly began filling gas canisters with the complete concoction. As he’d said, one canister was left to the side as they slowly began to be placed in a large sack.

When he finished Xander stretched out, cracking his back with audible pops before he slipped on the mask he’d left out of reach of the chemicals on the table. He threw the sack over his shoulder and tossed Jonathan a small salute. “Thanks for letting me use your facility, Dr. Crane.”

Jonathan smiled and gave him a nod. “I was happy to be of assistance, Xander. Please remember to visit some time for something other than business, would you?”

Red X laughed, the mechanical sound doing nothing to a man immune to fear. “Of course. Once this little snake problem’s been dealt with, I’ll be happy to come to a poker night or two at the Iceberg Lounge, if you’re all still holding those.”

Jonathan nodded again, pleased. “We are. I’ll tell Oswald to expect you in a week or so.”

With their goodbyes given, Xander slipped away into the street, likely hiding the gas canisters in his primary storage safe house until he needed them, and Jonathan admitted to feeling a small well of anticipation.

He was curious to see the result of someone like Red X being pushed too far.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys like Tim's newest persona; I like Xander as a name for Red X because it makes people draw conclusions on the naming style. It also keeps his names from cross contaminating as the villains and bouncers are (mostly) different circles.


End file.
